


The Art of Reprimanding one’s Snobbish Padawan in an Exceedingly Insidious Manner

by Tulak_Hord



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: BAMF T'ra Saa, Excessive Drinking, Forced Drunkenness, Gen, Kashyyyk, Master & Padawan Relationship(s), Padawan Dooku, Poor Dooku, When she's not being embarrassed by Small Dooku at least, Wookiees (Star Wars), Yoda is a Troll
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:01:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27656537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tulak_Hord/pseuds/Tulak_Hord
Summary: Padawan Dooku has been using the Training Salles for his own vindictive purposes again. His Master might have envisioned the perfect punishment.ORDooku & Yoda begin their Lineage tradition of Insanity that a certain other Master-Padawan pair might be very well known for.
Relationships: Dooku & T'ra Saa, Dooku & Yoda (Star Wars), Yoda and T'ra Saa
Comments: 6
Kudos: 33





	The Art of Reprimanding one’s Snobbish Padawan in an Exceedingly Insidious Manner

**The Art of Reprimanding one’s Snobbish Padawan in an Exceedingly Insidious Manner**

Master Yoda was not used to having his door slammed open during his usual hours of meditation. His disapproval at such instances was quite well-known, and such an act was very seldom engaged in if one did not wish to be on the receiving end of the infamously short-tempered Grandmaster’s wrath.

That is, if one was not Master T’ra Saa, who just as infamously would refuse to be undaunted by the most horrifying things, be they eldritch creatures on old Sith Worlds or the vegetables typically available in the Jedi Temple Refectory.

“For the last _force-damned time,_ Master Yoda, if you don’t rein in that accursed padawan of yours, I swear by Ashla I will…”

Yoda cracked open an eye, prompt scowl of displeasure on his face, when he saw the Neti Jedi Master who was five hundred and still young. He might have sighed to himself. His old friend would not be swayed by anything and would not take no for an answer- much like a certain padawan of his. No, it was best to get this over with.

“Jedi we are, Master Saa. Forbidden by the Code are threats of violence against padawans.”

T’ra stomped in and had the nerve to glare at him, and he gleefully glared back with his gold-green eyes. Upwards of Eight Hundred years is a long time, indeed, and it gives a tremendous window of time during which to school one’s facial expressions so as to have complete control over them.

The ancient Grandmaster, therefore, had no trouble hiding the subtle smile that threatened to display itself on his face.

“Oh, really?” Master Saa asked, many-vined and brambled arms on her hips. “And that means threats of violence against _Masters_ aren’t?”

Yoda chose to be magnanimous and neglected to point out that T’ra herself had terrorised _both_ her master and nearly all of her padawans in her time. He would have something of a leash with which to control some of her more ridiculous antics if they hadn’t all been so fond of her, the lot of them.

“Dooku again, hmm? Too harsh with him are you. Kind to him you must be- Melioorun of my eyes, he is.” he said serenely. T’ra only groaned at his odd sense of humour.

Another reason why young Dooku was a treasure. Yoda considered himself blessed that his padawan knew how to appreciate the finer points of his humour, unlike the other clearly _uncivilised_ denizens of the Temple.

“Which is precisely the problem!” T’ra fumed, throwing her hands up. “You, who have been the gimer-stick brandishing, fuming, terrifyingly displeased bane of Padawans’ existences for centuries, are inordinately fond of that- that- _kowakian monkey-lizard!”_

“Threatened which Master, has he?” Yoda asked instead, as he was not particularly fond of the Neti Master’s rants.

T’ra pursed her lips, muttering through clenched teeth- “Thame Cerulian.”

 _‘Hmm. Ask yourself why that is, you should. Scold padawans for the obvious, one cannot’_ was the immediate response that Yoda just about managed to prevent from slipping his mouth.

“Grave, that is. Done what, has he?”

T’ra schooled her expression into one of typical serenity.

“Master Cerulian showed up in the Training Salles today. Of course, that Melioorun of your eyes was present, as he always is. He then proceeded to insult him in a viciously polite fashion, and threaten him with a duel."

“What said he?” Yoda asked. His tones were stern, but in truth, he felt a distinct streak of pride.

Thame Cerulian had been Dooku’s first master, whom he had disavowed. An utter hypocrite and a fool, though he was wise in the esoteric aspects of the Force. Dooku’s talents were wasted in his tutelage. It had taken a considerable amount of scheming and manipulation on the Grandmaster’s part to get Dooku reassigned to himself.

And that was as it should always have been. Dooku was _his_ student, nightmarish as he could be.

“He told Master Cerulian that the training salles were specifically for the use of Jedi who know how to use them, and ‘kindly’ read out an instruction manual. He then proceeded to twist said manual in such a way as to make out that Master Cerulian’s true place was in the younglings’ crèche!”

“Hmm.” said Yoda, hiding how pleased he was. He’d remember to give Dooku some rootleaf stew later as a reward. He was sure his padawan loved it, no matter how vocally he protested that it was an insult to the plate it was served on. T’ra only glared dubiously.

“Master Cerulian ignored him, as anyone would, and went to find a sparring partner, only to learn that Dooku had premeditated his arrival and happened to book the same chamber Cerulian did. They duelled, of course. I believe you can guess who won.”

“Uncommon, it is not, for a gifted padawan to best a complacent Master.”

“And yet it is _very_ uncommon to forgo one’s lightsaber and instead take savage pleasure in dodging, kicking and punching said master into the ground!”

Yoda shook his head. No matter how proud he felt of his little boy, such behaviour was not to be encouraged. Not every padawan was Dooku, and not every master was Cerulian (the only reason he had not been formally repudiated was that it would require a blatant abuse of Yoda’s powers).

“Stand by lightly, one such as you does not, Master Saa. What did you? In the Halls of Healing, is he?”

T’ra grimaced; the Grandmaster had never quite forgiven her for treating spars as actual lightsaber duels and being rather brutal about them.

“Yes, I did ask to face him. Yes, I did beat him and make his posterior kiss the ground. But that wasn’t before he got a hit on me _three_ times. _Three times!_ My worst showing till date- and against a _padawan!_ Why by Ossus did you decide to teach him _Makashi,_ of all things?”

“Request it personally, my padawan did. To find a way to beat your Soresu, he wished.”

Forgoing the typical Jedi reserve (as if she had ever been one for it to begin with), T’ra curled her vined palm into a fist.

“Of _course_ that little vornskr wanted to one-up me in person… I’ll be sure to use Djem-So next time, see if he’s still smirking then…” she muttered with a sigh.

Yoda raised what little was left of an eyebrow.

“Diplomatic mission to Kashyyyk, we have. Next tenday should it occupy. Familiar with the customs, are you?” he said mildly, as if he were talking about the weather.

T’ra’s frustrated expression immediately morphed into one of wicked mirth.

“Oh, please take me along. You owe your former padawan that much, at least…”

* * *

“I still find it a matter of difficulty to ponder your decision, my master. Last I recalled, I had obtained explicit permission to peruse Ven Zallow’s _‘To Stand against a Sith Lord’_ with Jocasta and study the esoteric applications of the Force described within.”

Really, he ought to tell T’ra to restrain herself. He knew it as well as her that Knight Jocasta was utterly besotted with Dooku as no Jedi should ever be, and that he was somehow completely oblivious as only he could be, but there was no need to _shout_ it into the Force as she was doing.

He felt thankful that Dooku held an exceedingly low opinion of sentients that were not himself or his Master and stubbornly ignored every single shift in the Force’s currents with aplomb.

“Come, Master Tyvokka could not. Biased for his people, he is. Needed, we are- let your old Master hobble alone, would you, hmm?” Yoda asked, hiding a chuckle.

Dooku scowled. They had had many adventures and encountered an utterly unnecessary number of Sith abominations and other eldritch creatures of the Old Republic, and Grandmaster as he was, Yoda wasn’t particularly known for self-preservation instincts.

“You shall not find me wanting, Master. I have researched various aspects of the Wroshyr wood in the past decade, from the economic, political, and cultural angles of-“

“Yes, yes. Confident am I in your prowess. Disappoint me you have yet to.” Yoda supplied, deliberately ignoring T’ra’s ridiculous conspiratorial grin.

“Aware, are you, of Zaalbar’s custom?”

It was a diplomatic tool, deliberately concealed from sources such as the Holonet for the sake of politics by an agreement between the Wookiees and the Republic.

Dooku’s brow furrowed. He very greatly disliked being faced with something he didn’t already know.

“Zaalbar the Great was himself a Wookiee chieftain of the Old Republic. He is said to have travelled with the renowned Grey Lord Revan…”

“No, no, no.” Yoda said, tapping his stick. “Asked you of his custom, I have.”

And finally, Dooku’s shoulders hunched a little.

“I don’t know, Master.” he said after a long pause, and said it with such a soft voice that nobody heard- but it was for this reason that Yoda had mastered lip-reading. His padawan _absolutely_ did not like being confronted with the knowledge that there was something in the Galaxy he didn’t know of.

“Hmm. Interesting, it is. Local custom- useful for diplomacy has it proved. Believe, Wookiees do, that many veils there can be between truth and lie. Believe the word of a sober man they do not. But the word of a drunk man…”

Interesting, his skin felt scorched.

He was sure Dooku hadn’t used the Dark Side, but he might as well have- and yet that utterly _scandalised_ look on his aristocratic face was priceless and therefore entirely worth it.

There were few joys in the Galaxy compared to having his unnecessarily, ridiculously eloquent padawan shut up, for once.

_Two seconds._

_Three._

“WHAT THE FORCE?! BY KORRIBAN, YOU-“

 _“Silence, padawan.”_ said Master Saa curtly, and Dooku realised that he had been about to manhandle the Jedi Grandmaster.

To Yoda, the journey felt blessedly long afterwards.

For all his impossible tendencies, Dooku had the considerable patience to stay silent until then, which was good for him, as it meant Yoda would need to reduce his gloating afterwards. 

Finally, when they landed…

“Master, I- forgive me, but is it possible that I be allowed to use the Force to siphon away the Alcohol from my system? I- it can be said I have a reasonable impression of drunkenness, and it is best for the Republic if my demands are made while Sober…”

Master Yoda glared at him with an expression that portended the doom of the very Galaxy.

“Respect their traditions, we _must._ Observe you I will, _very carefully,_ yes, hmm. If caught you are using the Force…”

Dooku had the grace to look ashamed.

“Yes, Master.”

The Grandmaster suddenly felt a tremor of slight pain in the Force. He heard the reason soon after, in the form of a little giggle and a following whimper of forced restraint.

“Lagging behind is Master Saa. See to her, I will. Go on ahead you must.” Yoda told him, and Dooku gave him one last dubious glance before he swept off in that overdramatic cloak of his.

Yoda considered himself thankful that Human hearing was not as advanced as his own.

 _“Laugh not!”_ he thought harshly at his former padawan.

The flare of pain in the Force intensified.

* * *

It was, after all, far too much than they had bargained for. Yoda snorted, as did T’ra.

Of course, on a Yoda-Dooku mission, everything was _always_ more than anyone had ever bargained for.

Wroshyr Sapwater when fermented with some sort of fungus from the Shadowlands that only the Wookiees knew was a greatly intoxicating drink. Far sweeter than conventional alcohol, and something that no human could withstand after the first draught.

And yet Dooku didn’t seem to be human. At that moment, Yoda wondered whether there might have been any Chiss or Arkanian blood in him- no, scratch that. Rancor blood, yes.

His padawan’s tolerance to alcohol was _tremendous,_ and Yoda had been strictly keeping vigil, drawing away his power whenever he had attempted to purge his system. It appeared that he continued to purge it, but _subconsciously,_ and the Grandmaster could do nothing about it.

A force anomaly not seen for centuries. T’ra had assured him she would study it later.

The Wookiee Chieftain Grakchawaa, therefore, had decided a lot more Sapwater was in order, although rumbling in Shyriiwook, _< <I like this youth. It shall be taken as a personal insult that you have not summoned him forth more oft, Master Yoda.>>_

He did not groan. T’ra, who kept sneaking in glances from where she was (freed from the drinking as it was poisonous to her as a Neti), was enjoying herself far more than necessary to begin with.

 _< <Bring forth the Wroshyr-sap! Let him take partale of the heartland’s gifts!>> _the Chieftain yelled to roaring cheers, and poor Dooku was being pushed inexorably towards doom.

“Wonderful work have you done, Padawan.” Yoda kept saying, along with a myriad of other encouragements.

And in that lay the trap. So long as he praised his little boy, Dooku would never turn away and bow out. He would suffer in silence as long as his master approved, so that he could gloat and brag afterwards.

Perhaps, Yoda thought, himself and T’ra would make a fine pair of Sith Lords after all.

 _“Why in the Galaxy did I forget to bring a holocam?”_ T’ra sent at him.

“Inappropriate for a diplomatic meeting, that is. Forget you did not. Confiscated your holocam have I.” Yoda sent back, to a faint flicker of amusement.

And now that Dooku was a blabbering, slurring mess, neither of them felt any shard of sympathy for him.

The punishment was well-deserved, certainly. What kept them from pity was that even in this state, when his every word was slurred, Dooku managed to remain a ridiculously verbose rhetorician.

And given that Shyriiwook was a language that employed many eloquent, arcane phrases (not that anybody could tell), the Wookiees had flocked around him and were treating him as one of their own.

“And- and tth-that concluudesssh the- _haec-_ tale of our mossht pressstigioussh sssparring tournament and the- _hic-_ defenesshtration of Mahstah Thame Ceru- _hic-_ lian by yourssh truly.”

By now, even the Wookiees were drunk. Yoda watched, anything but a concerned master, as Dooku received an almighty shove that Grakchawaa might have thought a pat on the back, throwing him off his chair and bowling him over.

The soon-to-be-Knighted Padawan, however, hauled himself up with the wiry strength in his long arms. His swishing cloak had somehow become the new tablecloth after a Wookiee had poured him some more sap rather boisterously, ruining the previous one.

“Of courrshe, _hic,_ you haven’t yet m-met our latesssht vishitor.” he said, standing fully, doing something of a bow.

“Pleesh welcome Mahstah T’ra Shaa, mosht evil Jedi Mahstah in the Corushant Temple.” he said, pointing directly at her.

From where she had been ‘co-ordinating’ with the Republic envoy (as if anyone ever believed that), T’ra froze.

_“Um, that’s- uh, quite enough, now.”_

Yoda sent no reply.

 _“Maybe you should, er, retrieve your padawan?”_ she said, a pleading note entering her voice.

 _“Diplomatic situation this is. Do little may I.”_ he sent back, masking his vicious pleasure by eight hundred years of mastery in the Force.

At once, an accusing finger was pointed at her.

“Mahstah Shaa ish the mossht inshidioush Jedi Mahstah for the pasht millennium. She contrived- _hic-_ thish ridiculoush trip to punissssh me, ash I am shure. Raishe me to be an eashily-confounded fool, Yoda did not.”

_“Please no.”_

_“Deny the truth, a Jedi must not.”_ Yoda returned firmly.

The Wookiees looked dubiously at one another. It was impressive how Dooku, even in this state, managed to be exceedingly diplomatic

“No, no. That hash no reflection on- _hic-_ Kashyyyk. Thish planet ish beautiful, and I wassh a fool not to sssee it- I shall return, hopefully many timesh. Your hosshpitality hash been wonderful- _hoc-_ and the liquor ish- _shublime.”_

Another almighty thunderclap to the back, which nearly sent him over the quaint treehouse’s railing.

“But enough about ush; ‘tish time to return to Mahstah Shaa. You, my friendsh, musht know that she ish a Shith Lord, and I think Yoda knowsh thish too. I do not tell anyone becosh I wish to catch her red-hand shumday.”

Not many Wookiees knew much about Sith Lords, but looking at Master Saa nearly about to cry from frustration and embarrassment, they all observed her with much more suspicion anyways.

Dooku, meanwhile, was standing and summoning up his memories. By some miracle, his words grew less slurred.

“She _terrorishesh-_ gah- _terrorises_ half the Temple, and brazenly flirts with the other half that is not terrorished!”

Yoda hadn’t known that. He scrunched up his nose a little, determined to be more suspicious in the future. T’ra- well, she seemed the most terrified she’d ever been in her life.

“One look at her, and one knowsh she is shushpi- _suspicious!_ Neti can- _haec-_ shapeshift, as you are well-aware, and she uses thish ability to make hershelf look ex-sheedingly pretty. Beyond what she hash any right to be.”

 _“I-I thought he was the only one immune!”_ T’ra whispered into the Force.

 _“Know my padawan as well you do not. Repulsed by beauty, he is. More suspicious does it make him.”_ Yoda returned. This had all certainly been rather enlightening for both of them.

Dooku had nearly walked up to her, with a sort of evil light in his eyes.

“The only exsheptions to thish rule are Mahstah Cerulian, for reasons that are obvious, Mahstah Fay, who ish a thousand yearsh old SHPACE ELVESH and even more pretty, and therefore the one to begin the flirting at which they are jusht as repugnant and mushy- and me, whom she hatesh! But I hate her jusht as much.”

 _“Look!”_ he shouted, and T’ra had to restrain herself from tripping. “What kind of _tree-thing-_ sorry, Neti has- _agh- breasts?!”_

The Jeers that followed pushed T’ra over the edge.

Yoda hid himself in a convenient alcove, watching in an overly pleased manner as T’ra summoned her considerable store of wrath and overcame the initial embarrassment. Padawan Dooku ended up dragged away from the scene by the ear, utterly oblivious to it all.

* * *

The Force was his ally, and a powerful ally it was.

Yoda had never been more thankful for it as he was then, dragging a half-asleep Padawan to his assigned sleeping quarters in another tree house.

“That was… quite the experience…” Dooku muttered, eyes drooping, still physically incapable of pronouncing the word ‘fun’.

And of course he had enjoyed it, given the ridiculous way he smiled. _Dooku never smiled._

And in that, a small part of Yoda was guiltily pleased, as a smile on his padawan’s face meant a galaxy to him.

“Safe with me are your secrets.” Yoda said, knowing that it was what he wished to hear. He did not add _‘unsafe with Master Saa’,_ as he strongly suspected the Neti Master would herself wish to keep this under the covers after matters had taken a certain turn.

“Is- is it possible to engage in these activities once again, Master?” he whispered, as the Force lowered him down onto the bed with a superfluous amount of care.

“Recommended it is not.” said Yoda, hobbling to fetch a blanket. He would not use the Force to fetch it, damned be his age. No matter how old he was, he would never use the Force frivolously.

“Ah, pity. Goodnight, father.” said the heir to Serenno, breaths falling softly, utterly unaware of what he had said.

Yoda waited until he was within a deep slumber.

“Dream well, son.”


End file.
